


Vantage Point

by Pippin4242



Series: His Beloved Armour [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: BDSM, Chastity Device, Edging, F/M, Femdom, Orgasm Denial, background Reaper76 - Freeform, caged dick, written before release of honor and glory, young!ana, young!rein
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-01-16 05:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12336384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippin4242/pseuds/Pippin4242
Summary: There was a man, and he was beautiful, so Ana Amari climbed and conquered him.





	1. His Arrival

Ana Amari straightened out the papers in her file, trying to displace the irritation she was currently feeling and cover it up with useful activity. There was quite enough going on at the new Gibraltar base, in her opinion; the Swiss HQ had been humming with activity when she left three weeks ago, and the new base was already filling up with fresh, foolish faces, and more arriving every day. Now there was yet another 'hero' arriving – some damn idiot who thought it was the 1200s and was capable of dragging around an entire suit of powered armour, as though the kind of lug who'd be interested in refining that as a skill would be of any use to them. Overwatch needed thinkers and team-focused individuals, not just raw muscle. Some re-enactor used to trampling around in the mountains pretending he was in Middle Earth, enormous and muscular and totally out of control was the absolute last thing she needed.

In fact, what she _needed_ was a drink.

\---

She'd settled for a beer in her office. Well, not exactly _her_ office. She hadn't got one to herself yet; the big meeting room above the far hangar was supposed to suffice for now, but it was impossible to get anything done when Jack was talking loudly to new recruits, or when Gabriel was huffing around the place trying to tidy up behind everybody.

It was tiresome. But it didn't seem to bother the others, so perhaps it wouldn't be right for her to bring it up. In good time, she knew she was supposed to have everything as it had been back in Zürich, during the six months of planning and arranging they'd all committed to, so just for now she was still going to try and keep her head below the parapet. Appropriate, given her career specialisation.

Ana looked again over the notes she'd been sent on the new recruit.

There _had_ to be some translation issues, some problem with the numbering or something. She could see very clearly from the reports and his history in service that Wilhelm was a large man, but the picture she was getting from these figures was _freakish_. Surely it was a simple issue – like the height and weight apparently for the soldier himself were actually his armoured height and weight? _Surely._ Otherwise he'd have to be... she did a little mental maths... no. No adult human was two feet taller than her.

“Gabriel,” she blurted out. Lieutenant Reyes stopped dead, holding seven mugs – three in each hand, and one tucked under his arm.

“What,” he asked, bluntly.

“Reinhardt Wilhelm.” She tapped the papers, concerned. “Is he seven foot four? Because I mean. Everything else in his notes seems to check out just fine. But it says he's seven foot four and nearly four hundred pounds. I've been trying to convert it in my head and it just _can't_ be right.”

“Let me take a look,” said Reyes, shoving the mugs onto the table. He skimmed the notes systematically for a few minutes, then put them down. “Mmmmm,” he mused, doubtfully. “He'd have to be enormous. Is this in his power gear?”

“It doesn't seem to say so. Look, the numbers come up twice – here and here. And his referral statement into the Crusaders calls him, what was it – 'a truly exceptional physical specimen'?”

“Definitely sounds like a euphemism for a very large man." Gabriel glared at her in his confusion. "But four hundred pounds large? Who the hell is four hundred pounds large?”

“But the rocket hammer has a stated weight here – it weighs practically what I do,” pointed out Ana. “I'm sure the power armour takes a lot of the strain, but he sounds ridiculously strong.”

Gabriel pulled up an office chair and pored over the notes for a little while.

“Sorry Gabriel, I didn't mean to – look, if I go and take those for washing, I've got another couple of cans here...” Ana pushed a beer into Gabriel's unresisting hand. He ignored it and kept reading.

Ana hunted around for a minute or two, and removed a huge amount of Jack's notes from a tray. She quietly used it to remove the mugs and set them out at the designated spot in the hall, ready for one of the kitchen staff to pick them up later.

Gabriel had had long enough to decide. She sat up on the desk, looking down on his perplexed face, and took a long chug from her beer. “What do you think?”

Lieutenant Reyes sighed. “I think somebody should have flagged this for us two weeks ago, don't you?”

“If he's actually four hundred pounds, there's a lot of logistical issues we should have been planning for. I was going to send him to a dorm for now, but I don't think the cots would stand up to it. What are his dietary needs? Extra bulk to fill him, or is it a completely proportionate ration extrapolation? If so, how many units per meal should we be considering for him? How's he going to integrate with our strategy projections? And what if I'm just overthinking this, and there's nothing to worry about at all?”

“Seven feet and four inches... that's, what, two and a quarter metres? I hate mixed metrics,” grumbled Gabriel, finally noticing and opening the beer. “It's not an insane height. He'd still be able to get through all the doors at the base, it's the weight that's the trouble.”

“No, because what about the cot? It's not just going to be too flimsy, it's going to be far too short. We're going to have to find one without a bar at the foot, or we're going to have to saw it off, then we're going to have to weld some extra supports in there, and if we just weld another half a cot to it it's going to be too fragile. If he so much as jumps awake in the night he could go straight through it.”

“No mattress,” pointed out Gabriel.

“Damn.”

“Jack must have seen some of this before. He could have raised this as soon as he signed over the employment contract.”

“I can't get mad at him,” sighed Ana, “or I'll never be able to stop.” She kicked her legs out in irritation, and let them fall, dangling over the floor.

Gabriel glowered into the middle distance. “I'll do it for you. Isn't it enough to dump this steaming heap of idiot clichés on us and leave you to pick up the pieces? Couldn't boy scout at least have done his due diligence first?”

Ana snorted. “Stop putting everything I'm thinking into words, dammit. It'll only make it harder when I have to meet the man. What if he's actually as bad as he sounds?”

“It says his rank is Lion Knight. He's gotta be pretty bad.”

“Torbjörn looked bad on paper...”

“Are you on crack? He's just _short_ Ana, and, sure, his skillset looked weird, but he's a specialist. He's not some fucking set piece for a shit B-movie.”

Ana lay back on the table and stared at the ceiling.

“It's bad, isn't it, Gabe?”

“It's bad, Ana.”

They drank in silence. Ana tried not to pour the beer into her ear as she remained dramatically but comfortably prone, and only partially succeeded.

“He might be nice,” volunteered Gabriel.

“Does it matter?”

“Not really,” said Gabriel gloomily.

“What d'you think Jack was thinking?”

“Warm bodies,” he said, darkly.

“We're not that desperate, are we? I thought we were just going to recruit an international team from various disciplines. Why isn't he just speaking to national military sources?”

“Maybe the fact that he used to serve is enough for Jack. What do you think the Crusaders even do?”

“Carouse, I assume.”

Gabriel snorted into his can.

“Ana?”

“Hmmm?”

“It's happening. It's all happening. We're so close to ready. Do you think... all of this is going to work?”

“It'd better. I left a promising career for this.”

He smiled wryly. “I mean, seriously though.”

Ana sighed. “What... us? I mean, you and I didn't particularly see eye to eye when we met.”

“Not my fault,” sighed Gabriel. “You were always on my case about something. Face it, you were a complete hardass.”

“And now look at me,” she said, and stared at the ceiling tiles again. One of them seemed to have been installed wrongly; it didn't align properly with the dividers. She was going to know about it forever, and it would never, ever be worth complaining about, or even trying to fix on her own. It was going to drive her mad.

“I think there's beer in your hair,” volunteered Gabriel.

“I know.”

“I mean, I'm not gonna tell you how to look after yourself. For all I know that's a treatment in Egypt.”

She kicked him gently in the chest, sat up to down the beer, and then stalked off to at least try and get something done about the bed.


	2. His Appearance

Reinhardt Wilhelm had apparently been picked up successfully from the airport, and his ludicrous power armour had arrived on the base already. Ana didn't like it, not one bit. The technology wasn't _ready_ yet, she suspected. It was new, it was enormous, and it was preposterously powerful. If it malfunctioned it could surely crush every bone in the man's body. Had Jack even run the numbers before hiring this man on for the Overwatch project?

He'd already left his room before Ana politely knocked; she used her master key to enter, feeling a little rude, but wanting to ensure that he'd been correctly shown to it. The Frankenstein's monster of a bed, she was pleased to see, had clearly been slept in. It had been made sloppily, but still appeared rumpled down to the end, if she was any judge.

Seven feet and four inches. Could it really be? And if so, how had he managed to hide away from her until now?

She stalked off towards the canteen, and was ready to start looking through the building for anybody head-and-shoulders-and-half-a-torso taller than anybody else, when she saw him, just down the track.

Wilhelm was _enormous_. His proportions were fairly even, and he wasn't just tall – he was broad, and solidly muscled from head to toe. His feet were gigantic, his hands extremely large. He had an incredibly dramatic ponytail, and pale blonde hair. He was currently staring at the sea, and pensively eating an apple. He looked as though he could win any fight by simply sitting on his opponent until they got bored, and he also looked rather lost and alone.

Ana approached him. Here goes nothing, she thought. She drew a breath, trying to get her game face on: she was his commanding officer from now on, and she wasn't going to let him down.

“Herr Wilhelm?” she asked, as though there could be any mistaking him. She had never seen this man before. Had never seen a man so big.

He turned. She wished they'd sent a headshot with the files, as though that would have been ethical. Because he had a distracting face. It was boyishly charming, with lively blue eyes, thick sideburns, eyebrows and goatee. A firm jaw with lips which looked used to smiling, and the beginnings of a very pink blush spreading across his pleasingly defined cheekbones. Whatever she'd expected from somebody who called himself a Lion Knight of the Crusaders, it hadn't been a handsome young man who she could easily sneak up on, and who was anxiously flapping his hands as he tried to respond to her. She forced herself to remember that he was one year her senior, not a raw recruit in need of guidance, a smack round the head, or cocoa and a hug.

“Yes. I mean. I am. Sir?” blurted Reinhardt, awkwardly.

His first language wasn't English, of course, but then, neither was hers. Was this a slight? The elephant in the room was the lack of female officers in Overwatch so far. Nobody had given Ana any trouble since she'd started off at the Zürich HQ, but there had always been little considerations they'd had to make for her – a different uniform, a separate bathroom, her own space to change in. It was wearing on her at times, and she'd wondered if it was enough of a bother to make people notice her more as a woman. To see her as different, and perhaps less worthy.

Fuck it. Time to lean into it. “'Sir' will suffice, if it is how you feel most comfortable in addressing me,” she informed him coolly.

After all, maybe he just didn't know her rank and wanted to be polite. No need to read so much into everything. Right?

Reinhardt tugged at his ponytail, appeared to realise what he was doing and stop himself, and then made a sort of awkward choking sound. Had she _embarrassed_ him by some chance? Ana tried not to smile, and waited for him to course correct. It hadn't been her imagination – her man was coming off as much younger than his years right now.

“I'm – I'm Reinhardt. Yes. Sorry, sir. You took me by surprise.”

“Clearly.” Apparently 'sir' had been sincere, or it was now, if she was any judge. “Finish your food and then come with me.”

He gulped down the apple – he'd eaten the _core_ , didn't he _notice_ these things? – and posed in a semi-attention position, apparently trying to indicate that he was now prepared and no longer flustered, which she rather doubted. Ana gave him a moment to collect himself and then set off for the meeting room, assuming he would follow her. Great heavy footsteps on the new tarmac let her know she'd been right.

They thundered up the metal stairs behind her. She felt the structure tenser than it had ever felt under her feet before, and heard it creak loudly before settling into place. It sounded almost as though Reinhardt's bulk had helped finally break it in properly – so much of this place was still so new.

She opened the door to the meeting room, wanting to tell him to duck, then picturing his flawless forehead and deciding that he already knew how to avoid walking into doorframes.  
 _Damn_ , there were still mugs everywhere, and somebody had left a bunch of notes on the board, and they were confidential. Reinhardt might be joining Overwatch, but he'd barely been here five minutes. She flipped it over, hoped he hadn't noticed, and grabbed a seat.

“Sit,” she instructed him, and tried not to react as the chair he chose nearly telescoped into the floor under his weight. “Name and rank?” she asked, to get the ball rolling.

“Reinhardt. Wilhelm,” he stuttered, “Löwenritter of the Crusaders.” She was glad of the German. It let her pretend she didn't know what his ridiculous title meant. “Formerly Deutsches Heer Oberleutnant. Which is, um, First Lieutenant of the German Land Army.”

“Löwenritter Wilhelm,” she replied, “my name is Ana Amari. My rank in the Egyptian Armed Forces was Molazim Awwal, equivalent to your own rank of First Lieutenant. Here I am your superior, Lieutenant Amari. Your precise rank within Overwatch has yet to be assigned. Rest assured that we are aware of your highly decorated past both with the German Land Army and in your own more specialised group. I am, furthermore, aware that your personal and military history, your unique physique, and your highly original use of power armour as a single manned unit make you a most formidable force, but also an extremely unusual, and dare I say, rather untested quantity. And yet,” she said, trying not to fidget at the discomfort of the task, “I am to bring a formal report before Captain Morrison by the end of the afternoon, explaining how best to integrate you and your fighting style into our group of heroes.”

God, she hated using that word for this. Overwatch had so much _potential_. Did they have to mess around with self-aggrandising propaganda? She wanted the group and the mission to be sold on its own merits. This smacked of all sorts of things she didn't care to dabble in.

Reinhardt had gone very quiet. He'd been listening attentively before, but right now he was staring at a point on the desk in front of him, clearly lost in thought.

He met her eyes abruptly, leaning forward in his earnestness. “Are you not convinced, Sir, that heroes have a place in this world?”

 _Urgh_. Here we go. It was bound to come up at some point. No need to trample on him, but it seemed to Ana that honesty was appropriate between herself and her new subordinate, or it was going to come back and bite her in the ass.

“I will not complain if others find use for noble storybook imagery,” she told him evenly. “ I dare say it serves a purpose in terms of PR, and gives civilians something to look to when the true details of a fighting unit may be unknowable. But for myself, if you are asking, I feel no need to align my image with any heroic ideal. I am a sniper by skill, and so I prefer quiet places and shadows. My work has no noble heritage, no great legends.”

He was shaken, fired up, eyes shining with enthusiasm. How innocent could a seasoned soldier really be?

“No... great legends?” Reinhardt boomed excitedly. “Why then, what of the story of William Tell, a simple man who stood up to a tyrant and was forced to shoot an apple upon the head of his young son? Or if they've got to be _verifiable_ , well what about Simo Häyhä, the White Death?”

How distasteful. She hadn't enlisted to kill as many people as possible. It had been a test, a chance to serve her country, a chance to hone her skills and to help people with the medicinal specialisation she'd taken. What kind of _hero_ kept a kill count?

“Lyudmila Pavlychenko,” continued Reinhardt, apparently oblivious, “served in Odessa _and_ Sevastopol, over three hundred kills if I'm not mistaken –” He met her eyes, and broke off.

“Quite,” she said, feeling Reinhardt had rather made her point for her.

He looked away, bashful, and blushing again.

“I believe I misspoke, Sir. I apologise. It was not my place.”

There was a moment's awkward silence.

“Returning to matters of strategy,” Ana said, in what she hoped was a cool, professional tone, “while I can plainly see you are a man of some knowledge and experience, I struggle to see how you will fit into what I had been told was to be something of a stealth force. Plainly put: what fighting style can a sniper and a... knight with a gigantic rocket hammer have in common?” She was determined to get this meeting back on track. Perhaps a little honesty could get some perspective out of the man.

He just looked bewildered, and slightly emotional. “Sir, I can only tell you that I fought alongside men and women of a similar fighting school in Eichenwalde. I was more subdued in the army, but I am led to understand that I have been summoned for my unique qualities, rather than my ability to play well with others.”

They both pondered this for a while.

“I do have a shield...” he began.

“I'll bet you do,” sighed Lieutenant Amari. Of course he had a shield. He thought he was a knight. But what the hell use was that going to be in Overwatch, realistically?

“Excuse me, need some air...” muttered Reinhardt, and clambered to his feet. He left awkwardly, walking into the edge of the table as he went, and shut the door behind himself.

Ana found herself wondering whether he'd be coming back.


	3. His Method

Ana sat in the meeting room, feeling a confusing mixture of agitation and total boredom. She had no plans to begin jotting for Jack, and she couldn't leave, in case Reinhardt was still just outside the door, trying to compose himself. She thought she could hear a vague snuffling through the wall, but it could have been her imagination.

It might be nice to go and try and comfort him, but he wasn't a child, and nor was she his peer. Ana had to remember her position at the moment.

She couldn't go and grab a hot drink, because the fridge was downstairs, and she couldn't _abide_ black coffee. The view was very nice, but it had lost its magic about two hours into the first meeting they'd held up here.

Curse the Lion Knight and his very nice hair and his very silly rank. What had he managed to get all upset over? They'd barely begun the meeting. 

She was half considering going out there at last to see what was going on when Reinhardt finally returned, with a brilliant, friendly smile plastered slightly forcefully onto his face. 

“Many thanks to you, Sir!” he boomed, and took the poor beleaguered seat once more. “I admit I am still a little strained from the travel. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you too much by taking some air and leaving you to think.” 

Would have very nearly worked as a cover-up if his eyes weren't so pink and bloodshot. She gave him what she hoped was a bland, polite smile, and started to feel the creeping sensation that she wasn't very good at this. 

“Sir?” he asked, carefully. 

“Speak.” Please, speak. Let's get past this, she thought desperately. 

“Might I humbly suggest that we return to the point of order upon which I left the room?” 

“The shield?” Had that really been what had upset him so badly? Ana might not like the idea of Reinhardt joining Overwatch very much, but she hadn't intended to upset him. For all that he seemed to her to be a slightly embarrassing anachronism, he also seemed like a perfectly nice young man. She'd never been one to want to make anybody cry. 

He lit up, all business and excitement once again, and leaned in to give her the lowdown. “Sir, if you please, the shield has a maximum current width of twenty-five feet, and a stable width of twenty. There are presently upgrades being devised for the system upon which it is based, and it is plausible that future capacity and battery life may still yet be improved. It is programmable with energy signatures for a variety of weapons, meaning there is zero chance of impact from friendly fire, effectively making it a one-way wall, from both sides. My tech people have not yet found a weapon, no matter how unusual, that they could not kludge a code for.” 

He seemed to be searching her face for approval. These were _much_ more interesting specs than she'd been expecting. Ana could think of several ways that a shield like this might be used. She hadn't exactly been expecting a traditional medieval shield, but she'd still thought it would be a one-man kind of thing, and she hadn't imagined it to be fully high-tech. A one-way field sounded very appealing. She waited for Reinhardt to continue. 

“I propose to you that my chief use to a team of specialists is that I may serve primarily in a defensive capacity. My size and mobility allow me to defend many people on the fly, and I believe such a strategy may be used to reverse the tide of events should things go south.” 

“Very well,” she informed him. “We shall draw up a plan on this basis. Perhaps there will be time for a demonstration.” 

They spent the next hour drawing up potential ideas for named uses of his shield. He'd been drilled heavily in Eichenwalde, it turned out, but for a company of 'knights' using animal heraldry, they apparently hadn't been that focused on codifying their techniques. Had they had the temerity to think it was _silly_? And if so, _how_? Still, Ana could come up with half a dozen potential uses off the top of her head, and Reinhardt enthusiastically added more. They needed to be identified, labelled, so the team strategy could be refined and honed to the highest degree. So instructions could be transmitted swiftly under the most difficult of circumstances. And most importantly of all, so Jack could look at this damn submission and tell Ana she'd done a good job, and Reinhardt that he could stay on Gibraltar. 

\--- 

He followed her obediently down to the hangar where she planned to have him test it out. Ana felt she could get used to having an attractive man follow her quietly everywhere, and had to force herself to focus on the task at hand. She pushed through the boxed equipment until she found what she was after, and pried open the marked crate with a nearby crowbar. 

“A tennis pitcher?” asked Reinhardt, doubtfully. 

“A handy device for projecting ricochet,” she assured him. “Besides, the balls show up well on camera.” 

“Very well,” he said in acceptance, as she checked the machine over and powered it up. He was holding what seemed to be a simple metal cross in his left hand, and an external power unit he'd quickly hooked up in his right. It didn't look like much of anything, but Reinhardt certainly looked comfortable with it. 

It felt a little wrong, setting a machine to fire very fast tennis balls at the head of a man who wasn't posing any immediate threat to her. Ana sighed internally, and reached over to turn it on. She was looking forward to seeing what he did with it, in any case. And honestly, even if this did go badly, at least she'd know that she really could suggest that Overwatch might not be for him. 

“ _Ehre und ruhm_!” he roared at the ceiling. Ana managed to avoid rolling her eyes at the fact that he apparently had a battlecry, and diverted the energy into forcing herself to switch the pitcher on. She stepped aside and watched. 

Reinhardt did nothing. Ana saw, heart in her mouth, the tennis ball get within what must have been a couple of inches of his face. She realised somewhere in the back of her mind that she really didn't want to see that face get injured, and not just because she was responsible for it, but because she didn't care to deprive the world of something beautiful. 

At the last possible moment, he did something with the power unit, and the shield fired up. It was just as large as he'd indicated – though his size slightly diminished the degree to which it looked impressive – and it was also rather pretty; a series of sparkling blue points of light suspended in a neat repeating pattern. The ball thudded off it, directly over his face, and bounced away, thudding down the slope. The few which followed it barely impacted the shield. Reinhardt looked almost bored. 

Ana reached out to switch up the settings, and tennis balls began to pelt towards him. 

“Is that the best you can do?” he crowed over the rumbling engine and the _pock pock_ noise of the balls as they bounced hither and thither. 

She increased the speed and velocity as far as possible, at which point the pitcher ran out of ammunition. Reinhardt looked disappointed. 

“Oh,” he said, lamely, as they both stared at the juddering engine. She deactivated it. 

“Mmmm.” There were quite a lot of balls to clear up. Ana hadn't realised quite how fast they'd been coming. Still, decisive decision-making was a part of effective leadership, wasn't it? 

Reinhardt turned off his shield and lowered it. “Sir,” he said, awkwardly, “Would you like me to, um...” He indicated the room, generally. 

“No, no, we have people for that.” And no time to finish the plans and submit them if they didn't leave right away. “Doubtless it will focus somebody's mind. Perhaps as a punishment. With me again. Come.” 

He followed. 

\--- 

Ana was extremely pleased to have written something sensible and coherent, and even managed to scrape time to conduct an equipment test, no matter how silly it might have looked in practice. She was almost irritated at how well it had gone – like she was rewarding Jack for throwing the task at her, giving her no indication of the trouble Reinhardt's size might bring, and only letting her have a day to draw up an outline. It wouldn't do for him to think he could get away with this every time. She'd have to see what Gabriel thought. 

“We have, I think, the beginnings of a focus for your abilities,” she informed Reinhardt. “I would like you to attend our next live fire practice session tomorrow morning, at 0600 hours.” 

She hoped the others wouldn't overreact to him. Reinhardt was loud and excitable, but he seemed very sensitive to her perception of him. Perhaps that was because of her position as his direct superior, or perhaps he was like this with everybody. Still, giving him the chance to perform well in a live exercise was hopefully a nice, quick way to introduce him to people. 

As he sat pondering before her, she was put in mind of a large, over-friendly dog, and a thought sprang to mind: she wondered what he'd look like collared. 


	4. His Madness

Reinhardt safely dismissed, Ana took the report off to Jack, and tried not to look too smug about it.

She supposed she should be annoyed that Jack, who barely outranked her, had his own office already, but it was clearly horrible, and she didn't have the energy. It was in what had probably been designed as storage area under a staircase in Hangar 2, and it was windowless, and the door was clearly a last-minute addition. He had room for a chair, shelves full of paperwork, a couple of crates with a computer set up on top of them, and, barely, himself. To visit him, Ana had to keep the door open.

The martyrdom of it all might have annoyed her more, really, if it wasn't for the fact that Jack seemed to display no sign of discomfort at his situation. He was a strange one. But she did like him.

She knocked on the skirting of the staircase and waited for a moment.

“Come in,” came the muffled response.

She opened the door and carefully stepped around it.

“I've met with Löwenritter Wilhelm as instructed,” she informed him, proffering the report in its manilla envelope. “An unusual soldier, but competent. We ran some drills, and I've invited him to the live exercise tomorrow morning. Was that correct? I know you want him integrated swiftly if possible, and my assessment of him is that he should be battle-ready for the plan we've put together.”

Captain Morrison leaned back in his chair, and stretched out an arm to accept the report.

“Thanks, Ana,” he said, wearily, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “You're a godsend.”

“Very welcome,” she replied, and leaned casually against the doorframe as he opened the envelope and glanced over her report.

“Looks good,” he said, slightly guardedly. “Must admit, I don't know if I'd have taken him out on live fire straight away myself, but I left him in your jurisdiction. I've got no problem with you making that call.”

“My intention, as I'm sure you've read, is to keep him in a primarily defensive role,” Ana reassured him. “There shouldn't be too much rocket hammer silly business if he's just being a one-way wall. Hopefully nothing can go wrong with that. I'll have the weapon signatures of the team patched through to him this evening, if you don't mind – he'll need them programmed in by the morning.”

“Fine by me,” said Jack, and leaned forward to move a few things around on his holo-screen. He looked up at her earnestly. “I've sent you an up-to-date file so you've got something quick to work off. How is he, anyway?”

“I thought you'd met him already?” asked Ana.

“Not for long – I was rushing to meet the shipment. Seemed nice. Huge, isn't he?”

“I didn't know people came in that size,” she replied, frankly. “Actually, you could have warned us. We had really serious trouble with the bed.”

“Oh, did I not?” asked Jack, confused.

Ana sighed. She'd known it wasn't going to be worth bringing it up with him.

“You're overdoing it, Jack,” she chided him gently. “Have you eaten yet this afternoon?”

“I think so,” he said, vaguely. “I'm sorry Ana, it's just – we're so close...”

“Gabriel feels much the same,” she assured him. “You're doing well. Just don't lose sight of yourself.”

“I know really,” admitted Jack. “It's hard not to just get caught up in everything we're trying to do here. It's all so real now. So many people are relying on us.”

She leaned in to kiss his forehead. “It'll all be sorted soon.”

“Thanks, Ana,” he smiled up at her, wearily. “I appreciate your perspective.”

“No problem. But don't lie to me about having eaten next time.”

Having asserted herself over him thusly, she left him with the report, and gently closed the door on his cupboard office.

\---

The next morning saw drizzle and irritation in the air. Gabriel and Jack hadn't turned up yet, Torbjörn and Liao were quiet and sullen, and Reinhardt seemed to be falling asleep as she ran through things for the third time, mentally urging him to make some noises of recognition, so she could just sign off on this damn exercise and get it over with. He signed the waiver willingly enough, but that didn't really reassure her – his previously bright eyes seemed heavy-lidded, and even his formerly neat ponytail seemed to be flying at half-mast. Ana had to repeatedly fight off the urge to nudge him in the ribs. What had he been _doing_ last night? At least the omnic team were behaving – they were talking quietly to one another, and one was floating vaguely around, staring at the view. She hoped it wasn't going to make any trouble for her.

Ana found herself oddly touched when Reinhardt stomped earnestly over to shake the hands of each of them. What had possessed him to do that? He seemed sincere. She hoped he wasn't going to reveal a radical omnic rights streak out of nowhere and complicate their peacekeeping mission. It wasn't that she didn't understand why the more complex machine intelligences were pushing for rights – it was a tale as old as time, after all. But her job was to keep order and ensure the safety of as many people as possible. Her priority would remain protecting humans, who couldn't be repaired. And didn't the omnic staff members on Gibraltar seem happy enough? Ana knew uneasily that this wasn't her area of expertise. She didn't like lingering on it, and she had a nasty suspicion that in thirty years or so her current perspective was going to seem horribly outdated and prejudiced. But what could she do? Take up arms and join the tanks razing civilian habitations to the ground? She wasn't a bad person, she was damn sure, but she had responsibilities to uphold.

So she said nothing as Reinhardt bowed to the leader of the red team, but she was quietly impressed at his clarity of will.

She watched as he began to don his armour. His face became peaceful and still, taking on an almost meditative quality. Liao was clearly interested in the technology, but Reinhardt barely seemed to notice them as he hefted plate by massive plate onto his body, doing them up with a complex system of straps and hooks. Something about the human-like shape of the armour as it formed up on him made the parts which were still exposed look even huger, and yet somehow vulnerable. He covered them up quickly enough, and Ana tried not to stare.

As it fired up, the enormous energy unit on his back began to glow with a rich, warm light. In the grey weather, he looked like the only thing around which was truly alive.

Reyes and Morrison jogged up to the top of the slope, one behind the other.

“That's him then,” said Reyes, unnecessarily.

Reinhardt donned his helmet. A light came on behind the eyes – was that kind of drama really necessary? But it seemed to be having the desired effect – Gabriel whistled through his teeth, and Jack was openly staring.

“To the agreed position,” she radioed down to him, and he moved off obediently. Ana gained a certain pleasure from seeing his obedience played out in front of other people. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea to analyse that impulse. Then again, perhaps it was.

“What took you so long?” she asked the others.

“Takes Jack so long to get the really fancy underwear on before a live exercise that I had to go and help him,” said Gabriel immediately, his face completely straight.

Ana laughed, and tucked her hair out of the way to get a better view of the setup. “So what you're actually telling me is he fell asleep in his cupboard again.”

“It's not a cupboard,” said Jack, slightly petulantly, but they both ignored him.

Everybody took their positions. Ana buried herself comfortably in the grass. The drizzle had begun to clear, and if it was wet, it didn't soak right through her water-resistant outfit. She could see everybody through her scope. Since she had run all the setup and logistics while Gabriel retrieved their erstwhile Captain, Ana was the one who gave the order to begin the exercise, a prearranged signal beep.

Reyes and Morrison swiftly the first two omnic to emerge, whilst Ana tagged one neatly with her nano dart. “Oh no, I'm dead,” it said, and made a mournful deactivation sound as it lay carefully back on the grass to watch the clearing clouds for a bit. Ana quite liked that one, though she didn't remember its name.

Liao's hack took effect on two of the remaining three reds, and they rose up from their positions against their wills, whereupon Torbjörn mowed them down easily. One raised an arm in a signal of surrender.

The sixth emerged from behind the bunker, focused on the glowing bulk that was Reinhardt. Ana watched with interest – she looked instinctively away from her scope for a moment to see what he would do, an action for which she would later feel very guilty indeed.

As she saw Reinhardt lock eyes with the omnic and start to move forward, the omnic tripped abruptly. Its finger already on the trigger, the safety already off, the rifle in its hands was suddenly pointed directly at her, with a split second to react –

– when the very image of a fairytale hero exploded into action. Reinhardt, with reactions that could stop on a dime, launched himself into the air before her, jumping to a spectacular height. His enormous shield fired into life, with every bullet from the accidental spray dropping harmlessly before them both. His helmet and backplate seemed to leave traces in the air in front of her eyes, so fast was he moving. Sparks were flying from his propulsion system, and fell like glittering stars into the grass below. Her heart in her mouth, Ana barely remembered herself enough to duck, scope, and fire. The omnic who'd accidentally fired on her fell limp, looking almost relieved, though it didn't have a face to do it with.

Reinhardt braced himself and landed incredibly hard, dug right into the earth, with his hammer shaft thrust into the ground to mitigate the momentum of his fall.

Everybody was watching him. Ana wondered what they would make of her knight, realising as the thought crossed her mind that yes, she did very much regard him as hers.

Reyes broke the silence, stepping forward with a begrudging slow clap.

General applause broke out. She felt more relieved for him than for her. What was he playing at? What had those thrusters been? She hadn't seen them on the schematics yesterday.

Even if Reinhardt hadn't disobeyed her per se, he'd definitely been evasive to the point of deception. And yet in doing so, he'd clearly saved her life this morning.

Ana groaned internally. He was a hero. That's the kind of crap he was going to pull.


	5. His Warmth

This reflected poorly on her and it reflected poorly on him. It was going to get them both into trouble, and that wasn't even fair – she was a soldier, and though a leader by name and nature, she had never asked to be the sole individual in charge of a ridiculous knight in high-tech armour. Ana didn't know where to _start_ with how bad this was going to look.

She had no idea what to write in her statement on the exercise.

Reinhardt was watching her amicably, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and no doubt expecting a pat on the head. And while it didn't feel good to know she was going to have to burst his bubble, not exactly, there was a part of her that did enjoy knowing that this situation, his mood included, was hers to shape. Perhaps there would be a way to channel that sensation, later, when professionalism could be laid aside.

She eyed him up again. Her knight wasn't stupid; that much was obvious. They both knew he'd concealed at least some of the capabilities of his suit from her, and he couldn't possibly be expecting pure praise. His choice of seat – this time he was on the floor, leaning against the wall, rather than attempting a chair – was surely significant too; he looked far more at ease, for all that he was still wearing every huge metal plate of his armour bar the imposing helmet.

Ana knew she was dragging this out, and had to take control.

“Something of a surprise, Herr Wilhelm,” she said softly, and waited for him to take up a position.

Reinhardt's open face erupted into a shining beacon of pleasure and pride. Happy to be spoken to, happy not to be purely scolded for concealing things. Happy to have saved her life too, no doubt. It wasn't really a complex expression, but on a face like that, perhaps it didn't need to be.

“Indeed, Sir!” he exclaimed, dripping with intentionally telegraphed sincerity. “I hadn't thought it would be necessary to utilise an unorthodox and incomplete technique such as that at so early a point.” He pulled his sweat-damped hair out from the neck plate, and let it fall against his prodigious chest, where it stood out in a pleasing contrast. Pale gold against shining silver. Heraldry, simplicity, big feelings writ large. A narrative which might only become something more interesting to Ana if she were to take charge of it. He gave her a smile of appeal, inviting her to take him seriously.

“You have used this functionality before?” she asked, guarded.

“On several occasions. But I have found stopping to be quite a trial, and I would hesitate to call my charge an ability or attribute in the sense you were previously looking for.”

“Hmmm,” she allowed him. This could well write up cleanly. It might be that they were both out of the woods. She had better knuckle down and apologise before she looked churlish, no matter how concerned she was about having looked to Jack as though she had no grasp or control of the situation. “I must thank you, Herr Reinhardt,” she said, with the most gracious faint smile she could muster, “as your swift and decisive actions, though unapproved, appear to have quashed any possibility of inadvertent harm coming to any member of our team. Pray note however, that it would be preferable if you make the functions of your armour and weaponry clearer to Overwatch in future. You are our asset now, and we cannot make reasonable judgements for you or involving you if you are not honest regarding your abilities.”

Reinhardt beamed. “So, are you pleased that no bullets struck you, on the whole?”

Oh, what a shock, he'd seen through her. She didn't want to be dead. “Yes, I prefer not being shot to being shot, given the option. Did you want a pat on the head, soldier?”

Reinhardt grinned up at her from the floor. “From you, Sir, I would not say no!”

Not a bad reaction! Not what she'd been going for, but not a bad thing to hear at all! Still, she was the boss right now, and needed to keep it professional, for now at least. “You prefer to be reassured frequently, don't you?”

“Sir, I was – very close with my mentor.” Reinhardt closed his eyes for a moment, fondly transported to another world. “My relationships with the other Crusaders have been as close as family. Balderich gave me total honesty and candour, but he has also been a very open, magnanimous person. I would never expect nor request that my commander change their style for me, but if I have been trepidatious, it may be helpful for you to know that this may be a cause.”

Ana didn't want to be thought cold – that wasn't the person she was at all. Even so, it was important to her that she remain someone who could be taken seriously. She considered her words.

“Reinhardt, I may not be given to emotional displays, but you will find, if it is important to you, that I am not a cold person. Thank you for your honesty.”

“Always,” he said, meeting her eyes. It seemed to Ana that there was a lot of trust there. It was a good moment for her. She finally felt that she was getting through to him – that continuous honesty had been the best policy.

She finally took the lid off her pen, convinced she'd be able to smooth things over with dear, distracted Jack. And reconsidered, pausing with her pen hovering over the paper.

“Reinhardt, would you care for a drink later? In a more casual environment, perhaps?”

\---

The _Rose And Crown_ was a slightly eccentric pub which was fast becoming a favourite for the newly arrived Gibraltar Overwatch crew: if the bartender had any trouble with people's accents, he was keeping it to himself, and he seemed to take care to make proper eye contact with Torbjörn, which, in Ana's opinion, reflected particularly well on the man. There were other places she'd visited, but this seemed like the one for Reinhardt.

She parked up outside in the Jeep, and hopped down ahead of her knight, intending to smooth things over before he could make it inside. He still had her _pièce de résistance_ to contend with; a brand-new reinforced metal bench, newly liberated from one of the loading bays. Reinhardt had suggested himself that there might be an issue – it was good to know she was trusted with what might potentially be an embarrassing admission on his part. Having reflected, she really didn't want to see what would happen if he tried to make himself comfortable on one of the spindly-legged dark wood stools at the bar – while Ana had seen enough that she trusted him to know his own weight, there was such as thing as tempting fate. 

She strode into the bar, intentionally leaving Reinhardt outside, clambering down from the back of the Jeep with his bench over one shoulder. Time to be quick and efficient with her words.

“Evening, Basil,” she said, casually.

“What do you want, Amari?” asked the bartender, one eye closed in mild suspicion.

“Oh how could you,” she cried, and mimed taking an arrow to the heart, then straightened up and leaned over the bar, conspiratorially. “There's a new recruit coming through the door any second. Bit sensitive, might be a bit homesick. Huge man, I've had him bring his own seat. Don't kick up a fuss, I'd bet he drinks like a fish. He's a customer you'll want to keep” She stood up again, more casually.

Reinhardt opened the door with one gigantic foot, and sheepishly inched the bench over the threshold.

Basil looked him up and down.

“A half for the lieutenant, and a pint for her man?” he suggested.

\---

It being a quiet, weekday evening, they moved the other bar chairs to one side together. It felt good to perform any task in equality of purpose, if not of physical strength. Ana had a full pint, and sipped it slowly; she was in no hurry to drive back, and knew the road to the base would be completely clear later in the night. It was a medic's job to know percentages and amounts and safe limits, not to strive for some kind of unattainable paragon status. It felt so good to have left the base again, to be somewhere comparatively normal, even if it was just the _Rose And Crown_ and Basil's air of genteel menace.

There was a good view from Ana's bar stool, despite the fact that it was dark outside. Her knight was finally at ease upon the straining bench, his face beginning to relax as he cheerfully set about his second pint. A faint blush was rising already across his pale cheeks, and his hair, which had still been damp from showering, was starting to dry completely. The little strands which had escaped his ponytail were springing away from his forehead, framing his face boyishly. Ana stretched subtly, feeling her back crick into place. Desk work was hard too. She supposed she ought to stop staring at the man and take responsibility by initiating a bit of conversation.

“Tell me about Balderich,” she said, as though they'd been speaking all along.

Reinhardt smiled down into his beer.

“He's – the leader of the Crusaders. He recruited me from the army. He made me feel truly welcome; he trained me and housed me and fed me. And when Overwatch called he sent me away.”

She'd been right about the homesickness. Or perhaps lovesickness. Or both.

“You're still quite young, really, aren't you, Reinhardt?” she remarked. “Oh, don't take that the wrong way. It's just an observation based on your looks as opposed to your personality.” Nobody would expect a man who could buckle reinforced steel to blush because he'd heard his mentor's name unexpectedly. “You don't do anything by halves. It seems to me that your work becomes your life very quickly. Do you think that's a fair assessment?”

“I think, Sir... that your assessment does Balderich an injustice. He is a truly compelling man, and I have been proud to serve under him these last few years. Besides, Eichenwalde is similar to this Gibraltar base – they're both a little isolated, and despite the natural beauty of both places, the people I've worked with are the most interesting thing to me in either location.”

'Under him' was a wording Ana couldn't help but take under consideration. It could just be an artefact of translation, and she wasn't inclined to draw his attention to it. She smiled to herself, and wondered if Reinhardt had any more to say on the matter.

“I have an opinion regarding your own personality, Sir, if you would care to hear it,” he volunteered, apparently oblivious.

“Go on...?”

“I think you enjoy letting other people fill in the rest of the conversation. You let me read into your silences whatever it is I need to read into them, and by responding to something which was never said, I tell you what I need to say, so that you can then yourself respond appropriately.”

Where was he going with this? She cocked her head, wondering if he'd take the ball and run with it if she kept it tongue in cheek. Ana lowered her head to look up at him with her naughtiest face, absolutely on purpose. “Meaning?”

Reinhardt paused for a moment. “Yes, I've had sex with him.”

Ana laughed at that; she laughed long and loud. Her knight was an open book, and this, whatever it turned out to be, was going to be so very much fun. For both of them.


	6. His Acquiescence

They drank for a while even after that; Ana nursing her single beer to its increasingly warm and unrefreshing dregs, and Reinhardt slamming several pints further as they peacefully chatted. He'd looked at one point a little shifty; “Speak,” Ana had commanded, and instead, he'd flashed her his wallet. “I don't know what the protocol is,” he had admitted, “and nor do I care to know. I would be happy to pay for both if you will let me, but I have no intention of drinking freely when you cannot and then not paying my own bill. Please,” he stammered, beginning to blush, “I don't mind whether you accept my offer for yours, but will you let me relax and pay for my drinks?”

Her _heart_. What was she supposed to say to a man who could get himself worked up so easily?

“Reinhardt,” she had smiled, “as we both know, I invited you out this evening, and I am your commanding officer. I had intended to welcome you by paying, and I had you down as a serious drinker. It's not just your size! You think you're the first German soldier I've met?” And she had laughed at his earnest, desperate expression. “It's fine. What gift is it if it causes you discomfort? By all means, pay for your own drinks if you would rather.”

And now he followed her. Ana hoped she wasn't taking advantage of his more advanced state of intoxication; though she knew he'd eaten a good dinner, and though she knew his enormous body would dilute the effect of the alcohol, it seemed to her that he was overwhelmed, or lost in thought. He had gone very quiet, and was close behind her. She'd parked up the Jeep and invited Reinhardt, though not his metal bench, back to her quarters. He was quite a sight against the night sky. There wasn't too much light pollution out this far, and the bright moon seemed to give the thin clouds a rich velvet blueness. Looking up and seeing her soldier in the darkness, his face so far above hers, made him all the more striking. His skin so pale and youthful, his hair which almost seemed to reflect the starlight. He looked lost, and very far from home. She took his hand.

Reinhardt's hand was a revelation to her. Ana had had no cause to touch him before, and it seemed to her that this little contact was enough to fix him in her mind, to make him truly real. Because his hand felt like a _hand_. It was the largest she'd ever seen, sure enough, and easily twice as long and as wide as her own, if not far more. A mere visual assayance seemed to convince some part of her subconscious that it was the hand of a puppet, or an omnic, but a touch had done the trick at last. Huge though it was his hand was just like hers or any other. Thin hairs on the back stood up slightly in the cool night air. The pads of his palm were rubbed to a silky smoothness by hard work and training. And it was warm, warm, warm, and Ana knew for sure now that she wanted to feel more of his warmness.

She led him by it up the stairs. Overcome with the joy and the fun of it all, she wanted to rush on, to skip a few, but she didn't – she kept that energy coiled up like a spring. She waited patiently as she showed him into her room, and as he looked politely around.

There, that had been enough time.

Ana pulled Reinhardt's unresisting arm up towards her chest, turning him towards her, then, with a fraction more force than she would dare to use on a smaller man, slammed the flats of her palms into his chest. He fell unresisting onto the bed, an almighty tree downed by a breeze hitting it in exactly the right spot.

The bed bounced alarmingly, but she'd been sure it would hold – it was a good bed, which had followed her through several postings, and she'd reassembled it herself.

Was this okay? Ana wondered to herself. An uneasy feeling was growing. But it seemed to her _right_ and _good_ , not to mention _damn sexy_ to tell Reinhardt exactly what she wanted from him. He seemed to be a reasonable man, with a decent amount of life experience (and sexual experience) under his outsized belt. But there was still a chance that he was being overly influenced by her actual position of power over him, rather than one established by mutual agreement, and she didn't like it.

“I think it's time you removed your clothes, don't you?” she asked him. There – a chance to disagree. She hadn't loaded the question with any particular inflection, and she hoped Reinhardt would read into it what she'd intended to lace it with, without them having to end the fun of the scene which seemed to be building.

Reinhardt smiled up at Ana from his prone position. “I agree!” he answered enthusiastically. “Sir?”

“Speak, Reinhardt.”

“I would like you to know, Sir, that I am completely happy to do as it is that you will for me, and should that change, I would not hesitate to speak up.”

A _blessing_ , Jack had sent her a great big blonde _blessing_. “Very good. What I wanted to hear. Now strip.”

Reinhardt followed her order obediently, and for the first time Ana felt completely reading into it her own opinion on the matter. This man missed his commander and wanted to be fucked. She was going to push him around a bit first, to make sure he knew who was boss, to help him feel more secure in his new posting – but also, and vitally, because she really, really wanted to see his face when she took complete control.

Reinhardt's expression as he stripped and lay back down was fun to watch. A little expectant – nervous, perhaps – but definitely overall peaceful. Ana was sure she was doing the right thing with him. That chest looked as though she could lie straight across it, and his shirt when it hit the floor as though she could drown in it. His cock was half-hard against his thigh, and she saw it stiffen as he noticed her line of sight. An exhibitionist! At least... in part, as it were.

“Yes,” she said, approvingly. “I prefer my soldiers to stand to attention.” She ran a finger along the soft skin of his cock and watched as it became fully erect. He let out a little moan of pleasure.

“Stay,” said Ana, and sat at his great feet to remove her clothing from the waist down. Reinhardt made no move to get a better view as she did so, and Ana felt absurdly pleased with herself – for understanding him enough to give instructions he appeared to want, and for commanding the respect needed for him to feel good about following them.

She kneeled back up on the bed and crawled towards his head, running her fingertips from his pubic hair all the way to his nipple, making eye contact the entire time and ignoring his (distracting) body. She leaned closer and gave the nipple a tweak, stroked his jaw, and lifted it for a kiss; his lips were as soft as they'd looked, and she didn't want to pull away when they'd finished.

Ana moved herself carefully up the bed, throwing one leg over Reinhardt as she went. She was so close to his body that the hair between her legs brushed his chest slightly. She crouched over his neck and twisted her fingers tightly into his hair. He squirmed at first and then moaned; Ana felt herself smile, unable to keep up her serious mask for long.

“Feels good?” she asked.

“So good,” he sighed happily, and she yanked his head to one side, pressing it into the sheets. While it was wonderful to see all his alert attention give way to bliss, she couldn't let him linger in pleasure for too long; she had to keep reminding him who was boss. Or it might not take.

Ana moved right in above Reinhardt's face. She rested her hands on either side of his head, and carefully sat up, her shins flat on the bed, her body bolt upright, and her bottom neatly parked on his beard for support. Unbidden, he gently raised his hands to her bare waist, and took hold of her firmly, supporting her. She had been worried that relaxing too much would cause her to suffocate him, and his strength, the limit of which she had yet to see, was a relief to her. Was he going to take this arrangement as a further non-verbal instruction? His tongue was her answer: so hot it seemed to burn, it pushed her labia apart and entered her, leaving her desperate to grind against him but thinking it ill-advised. Though she wanted to maintain the aura of control she'd managed so far, a gasp slipped out. When Reinhardt's tongue probed deeper she couldn't stop herself any more, and rubbed back and forth against his lips, trusting that his strong arms would prevent her from suffocating him completely.

It seemed, bless him, that he wasn't that experienced with this – maybe not with women at all, by the feel of it – his tongue was more exploratory and tantalising than it was rhythmic and sustained, though it did feel extremely nice just to have attention paid to her vulva, labia, and once or twice, possibly by sheer coincidence, her clit. She enjoyed the sensation for a little while, but eventually his dribbling began to make her somewhat uncomfortable; everything was too damn wet, and put her in mind of menstruation – she had to fight the urge to rush to the bathroom to check herself. But he was her knight, and he was doing his best, holding her up still in his tree-trunk grasp, and though unpracticed he clearly understood the _principle_ of eating a woman out. Ana realised that she found this to be mostly endearing, and actually kind of hot, in a soggy not-actually-that-great-in-the-moment kind of way. She supposed this meant she must be falling for him.

This was silly; Reinhardt was a big, strong man. Ana started to grind properly against his lips and chin, and felt instant relief at having taken control. He was still trying valiantly to eat her out, but half the time his tongue couldn't reach much. She realised she didn't much care; she liked him and he smelled good and he felt right, and the rest they could work on. And his beard, slicked by their shared fluids as it was, felt good! She tried to keep herself from making too much noise – not to appear untouchable, but to maintain the powerful image she'd been working on with him – but all her breaths were turning to moans.

She called his name, and came.

It was a good orgasm; it came over her all at once and ran from her core out to her fingers and toes in an explosion of sensation, leaving her feeling warm but drained. Ana flopped back in her knight's strong arms and caught her breath. Eventually he gently let her down, and she buried her face against his hairy chest, dimly aware that her entire weight must be upon him, but able to clearly feel his chest rise and fall calmly. She knew he was still hard, but this hadn't been his turn. He wrapped those great heavy arms around her back and she felt enveloped completely.

“You were such a good boy,” she managed, her voice sounding slightly muzzy. “You're going to need some practice, of course. Nobody gets it absolutely right first time. But you were such a good boy.”

Reinhardt waited for a moment before responding. “Thank you,” he said, in a contented tone.

His cock stood hard and ignored. Reinhardt closed his eyes in pleasure anyway.


	7. His Word

Ana wrapped her fingers in Reinhardt's fair, coarse chest hair, and pulled at it with all the strength she could muster. He didn't appear to notice even a little bit, so she nuzzled against him harder instead, and tried not to let sleep take her. His breathing was rhythmic and huge, and lying atop him remind her of travelling on a calm evening sea.

It had already been dark when they'd made it to her room, but the calmness and Reinhardt's amicable silence made the darkness feel thicker now. She wanted to know him. Inside and out. Not by speeding up her knowledge of the man through useless chatter, but by seeing what he would tell her unintentionally. Already, Ana had learned so much.

She considered Reinhardt as a whole whilst she tried to drag herself back to full consciousness. The most important things she knew about him could be listed as if she were writing up another report, she was sure, and she began to compose that report mentally.

_Wilhelm, Reinhardt_

_[Lion Knight]_

  * _1\. Of immense size:_
    * _1a. Needs a larger bed_
    * _1b. Hands feel real_
    * _1c. Can support my full weight:_
      * _1.1c On his chest_
      * _1.2c In his arms as he eats me out_
  * _2\. Emotionally insecure:_
    * _2a. Misses his mentor/prior sexual partner_
    * _2b. Requires frequent reassurance (can be used to selfish ends on my part)_
  * _3\. Good face_
  * _4\. Also good hair_
  * _5\. Excellent manners and personality_
  * _6\. I'm keeping him you know_
  * _7\. Ana don't go to sleep for fuck's sake he's still got a raging hard-on_



She stretched, pushed her hair back out of her face, and finally managed eye contact again. Reinhardt was giving her a slightly eager look and she didn't like it – he shouldn't _assume_ he was getting anything at all. Ana wasn't a cruel mistress, she hoped, but it wasn't going to be up to Reinhardt to decide on when he got to come. Of course, there were aids which could assist her with that sort of thing, down the line...

She tried to give him a firm look. “I suppose you think it's your turn now, do you?” He was eager, mouth turning up at the corners.

“If it please you, Sir!” he said enthusiastically. 

Well, the sentiment was there, even if the obedience could use some work.

She licked her index finger and began to slowly pinch and rub Reinhardt's nipple, her playfulness turning steadily away from rubbing and towards pinching as she could see that his reaction was favourable. He met her gaze openly; on another man the look might have been brazen, but here it seemed to say: this feels good, you did it and so I won't hide my enjoyment. His eyes kept crinkling at the corners in pleasure as he resisted the urge to close them or to look away.

As soon as Ana was certain that Reinhardt's attention was all on his nipple, or on her, she inched her bare foot down to his dick, and touched it gently with her toes. She pushed it against his body and felt it strain away, getting still harder after having been ignored for so long.

Reinhardt bit his lip.

“You've made quite a mess in your beard,” she remarked calmly. He responded immediately – a blush flew to his pale face, and he anxiously smeared at his face with the back of his hand. Ana stole away, further down the bed, and sneakily stroked his cock with her hand before he could see her. His skin was soft, and it brought her immense satisfaction to hear him yelp in surprise and arousal.

“Mmmm,” she murmured, pleased. “You like that?”

Bursting with sincerity, each word carefully considered, he replied: “Sir, I do. Very much.”

“That's nice for you,” Ana said, amused, and took his balls in her hand. She squeezed them, slowly, making sure he didn't recoil in sharp pain, and then continued to squeeze, fully intending to cause discomfort, arousal and mild, carefully measured pain. Being not in posession of a set of her own, these things would have to be attended to with some care.

Reinhardt cried out as her hand tightened firmly, but rallied: “Sorry.”

“Oh, was that a bit uncomfortable?” she asked, as nicely as she could.

“A little, Sir, but that's not to say that what you did didn't have its charms...” He seemed to see through her pretence of innocence – she liked his playful look. Ana ran her thumb over the head of Reinhardt's cock. It jumped in her hand, and he moaned, helpless.

She held the shaft in her fingers and rubbed the tip of her thumb over his head, swirling his precum about and drawing it down into her palm, pulling it down slowly and back up once again, with glacial, considered deliberation. Reinhardt squirmed and moaned, but she refused to speed up. Instead she ran her thumb over his slit once again, leaning ever-closer and watching his face as she went.

He smelled intense, and pleasing. Ana slowly stretched her tongue towards his dick, and let it sit against the shaft, thinking he would get used to it after a few moments – and then she flicked her tongue up to the tip.

“Gott in himmel,” Reinhardt moaned, crimson, and pulled the covers over his face.

“No hiding,” scolded Ana, and swatted aimlessly at him for show. He pushed the covers back down, and she saw tears at the corners of his eyes. For a brief moment Ana thought she must be overdoing it, and then realised this was exactly the reaction she'd been after.

“Sorry, Sir, I'll try not to in future,” Reinhardt managed, every word a strain, and then went straight back to moaning as she slowly, slowly drew noise from him with her hand. “Oh, _oh._ Please.”

“Not yet, I think,” she said coolly.

“Aaaah – okay, sorry to beg without your say-so, Sir.”

“Better.”

She increased the pace, and his muscles tautened.

 _“Aaaaaaargh,”_ moaned Reinhardt, writhing against her sheets.

Ana slowed once more. Reinhardt gasped at her change in pace, and pulled at the covers. She thought she could see him resisting the urge to beg again, his mouth forming empty shapes, and all that left his lips was a whimper. Ana let go of his cock entirely, ran her fingers through the soft curls of his pubic hair, gripped a handful and slowly pulled, just that little bit harder than could feel _solely_ pleasurable.

“Oh...” moaned Reinhardt, staring at the ceiling. Ana flicked a finger against his cock, making him start in pain and overstimulation, and before he could process the pain, she started jerking him off properly. She could feel him tense at first, and after a short while he began to relax. The muscles in his hips tautened once more, and so she let go altogether. She stood up, still unclothed from her waist down, and walked over her bed to Reinhardt's neck. Before he seemed to realise what she was doing, she had her foot over it – gripping with her toes, so that she wouldn't slip and harm either of them, she started to put her weight down on his soft flesh.

(This had better be okay, and he'd better fucking say something if it wasn't. It wasn't as though she were _trained_ in this.)

Reinhardt said nothing. He didn't protest; he didn't flinch, he didn't draw breath sharply. Ana knew that as a trust exercise, this was a two-way thing: he had to trust that she wouldn't harm him any more than they were both comfortable with, but she also had to have faith that he would let her know if she went too far or was mistaken in any way.

This man had saved her life today.

She lifted her other foot from the bed, feeling an unpleasant crushing, grinding sort of pressure in his neck. There were biotic grenades in her pocket, of course, but as a medic of sorts Ana was not inclined to actually strangle her knight. Just to... squash the air out of him a bit. Make him _know_ , bone-deep, that he was hers to enjoy. So she stood a little longer, carefully balanced on one foot, toes of the other grazing the sheets as she remained stable.

“Mine,” she said, and when he didn't react, she said it again, more fiercely. “Mine.” Ana stepped back onto the bed to look down on him.

“Oh good,” he said, his voice quiet but intact. He seemed relieved to hear it, if anything. She nodded her approval.

“You are satisfied with this present arrangement?”

“Very,” Reinhardt said, and stared weakly at the ceiling.

Ana began to run her foot over his dick again, still standing poised over him.

“Sir,” he said, a little more clearly. He caught her eyes; she continued to push his dick around. He looked like he was planning something; a part of her dreaded to think what, but it was a mean part, and Ana tried to stifle it. She would get used to his different way of thinking, she was sure.

“Sir, I pledge myself unto your service. Until the day I die or am dismissed from your side, I swear on my honour, on my heart –” she ran her foot firmly over his balls, making him moan loudly mid-speech “ _hnnnngh_ that I will serve you and no other. I, I want to stand by you, and learn everything about you. I want to fall in love with you so hard I never recover.”

Tears streamed from his eyes, though his face stayed relaxed. It was a lot for Ana to hear, but there was nothing there she hadn't at least half-suspected. And it was good – fair, measured – that he wanted to fall in love with her, in the future tense – that he saw their potential as a couple, rather than letting the moment take him completely and saying whatever he thought she wanted to hear. This was imperfect. And lovely. And real.

She liked it very much.

“You mean it?” she asked, though she didn't need to. When would her knight lie to her?

“Yes, Sir!”

“Every last word?”

“Every last word of it, Sir!”

Ana sat beside him, pressed up warmly against his side. Gently she began to stroke his cock, more normally, more kindly than before. She was no expert, but she'd done this before, with others. She knew what an ordinary pace felt like. A confused, large hand enveloped her leg, and she felt certain in that moment that many of her feelings reflected his.

Reinhardt moaned faintly, sounding almost lost. His other hand pulled at the covers, and he strained to open his eyes; glittering blue in the darkness, she knew he had nothing to hide from her. That all she had of him was here with her, was all of him.

 _“Ana!_ he cried, exactly as he came. It was long, it was hard, it was desperate. He began to tremble as he finished, spurting over her hand and squeezing her thigh.

It was the first time he had used her name.

The sensation appeared to ebb away. He lay for a moment, utterly spent, and Ana realised her knight was crying again, apparently more aware this time than before; there were sobs and hiccoughs. She wondered again how this naïve, unblemished man could be (even slightly) her senior. But he was pretty good exactly as he was. With just a little work here and there, Reinhardt might be the perfect soldier to work... beneath her.

She stroked his hair, and pulled him close.

“There,” she said, knowing positive reinforcement was meant to be important at a time like this. “That wasn't so hard now, was it, my dear?”

Reinhardt shut his eyes for a moment. His head was pressed against her chest, and they were both totally peaceful.

Then he opened his eyes, and parted those lovely pink lips.

“It was for a while, Sir,” he said, quietly, “but it certainly is no longer.”

Oh for goodness sake. Ana couldn't help but laugh though, and she was still smiling to herself as she began to plait his hair. It was in excellent general condition, and still clean and soft from his shower, despite the seeing-to she'd just given him. She pushed him one way and then another to get better access; he went where he was put, and stayed.

She didn't want to ask if he wanted his hair plaited; it was a simple task, and one that was easily undone. The real point of it was the physical pleasure of the intimacy, and the strong statement she could make by altering his appearance without his say-so, in whatever way it might be.

Reinhardt didn't so much as open his eyes as she finished the plait off, finishing it with the tie that had previously held his ponytail in place.

Ana liked seeing him at peace. She wanted to give him more moments like this.


	8. His Home

The border crossing was a bloody nuisance. It had improved in recent years, of course, but somebody always had something on one side which was wanted on the other, and vice versa, and despite assurances, the bottleneck situation had never quite been resolved. Once upon a time the Spain-Gibraltar crossing had been choked with Spaniards trying to buy petrol, which was taxed at a different rate, and Llanitos buying... well, everything else. These days it was solar fuel cells for the Spanish people who came over. Ana couldn't be certain of what each driver in every slow-moving car was looking for in Spain. But she knew very well what she was after. And she didn't care to speak to anybody about it, so she hadn't ordered it in by post (which might have been opened by customs officers) or picked it up on any official business to the mainland. There was nothing wrong with what she was buying, and she wasn't ashamed, but nor did she care to make it anybody else's business who and how she fucked. She was, as ever, wary of potential judgement as a woman who had to live alongside her colleagues.

Which was why Lieutenant Amari was crossing the Spanish border on foot. Past the cars waiting for far longer than she would take to walk the entire distance, round past the public loos, and into a small building with a row of booths, where a small, efficient omnic asked her preferred language, skimmed her identity documents and let her leave, with a cheery “Thank you, officer!”

She didn't actually _have_ an office of course, but at least border control showed her a little respect as she went to buy a cock ring. That was nice, at least.

La Línea actually had several sex shops, she'd been pleased to find; the internet was a frank and unjudgemental helper in this respect. _Sexshop Cadiz Tienda Erotica Intimate_ won the toss, being as it was only a couple of blocks from the crossing.

They had exactly what she needed. She'd already researched it, and had a specific style in mind. She'd been willing to walk much further to find the right one, but the woman behind the counter (surely barely out of her teens) had been helpful, and seemed not to be personally interested in the slightest, which was a plus. There had been talk of omnic labour being used for potentially awkward transactions such as this one in future, but – uprising aside – testing had showed that customers experienced a set of entirely different awkward reactions to such a setup, and the plans had been quietly shuffled away. Ana wondered if the bored young woman had any idea how close she'd come to losing her job to an intelligence totally incapable of enjoying the products on sale in this particular shop.

\---

She summoned Reinhardt to the meeting room once again. Ana said nothing, at first, feeling relaxed and at home – and also curious as to what he would do or say. Reinhardt simply greeted her cheerfully with a “Sir,” and leaned against the (mercifully, reinforced) glass to watch the sun on the waves for a while.

The sky began to darken to a glorious gold. It was going to be a beautiful, clear night.

“I have been thinking about the way that you speak,” she told him.

“I see,” replied her knight, giving nothing away.

“You are a loud man. Often a man of many words.” This much could hardly be argued.

“I agree,” he said, and very carefully did not look worried.

Ana managed not to smile at him, and chose her words with deliberation. “I don't believe you ever say anything that you don't mean. Would you suggest that is a fair assessment of your personality?”

Reinhardt lit up at that, clearly happy to be understood, or at least considered carefully.

“Sir, I believe you are correct. I'm aware that I say a lot and that some of it's unusual. That... not everybody wants to hear about heroes, and everything that myths and legends entail. But I don't believe I've ever told you a word of untruth.”

“That is good to hear,” Ana replied, smiling up at him.

Reinhardt smiled back at her. It was still such a sweet, innocent smile. He wasn't stupid, but he was definitely, for the most part, very uncomplicated. It was relaxing just to be around him.

“You said a lot of things on the night when I first took you to my bed,” she prompted him. Reinhardt had the grace to look a little awkward – that certainly had been a whole intense thing he'd said to her, after all. Was he going to sustain it or try to walk it back a bit?

“Sir, I don't recall them with great clarity – my attention was divided somehow,” he said with a wink, “but I don't believe I gave you any words in which I did not have faith.”

Ana felt she was only as unsure of herself as the next human. But anybody would like to be reassured that there was nothing mocking or tongue-in-cheek about such a strong statement of lust and of trust.

“Very good,” she said, and stepped over to watch alongside him as the sun grew lower.

“I bought you a little something in Spain,” Ana said, lightly.

He smiled back at her, and said nothing at first. Goodness, he _had_ learned well since she'd first told him not to beg. Maybe even too well. She still wanted him to be _interested_. He didn't ask what it was, but after a moment, simply said “Thank you,” very warmly.

She stuck her tongue out slightly, feeling rather petulant. “You don't know what it is yet.”

“Do I need to know in order to feel grateful?” The golden clouds behind his head framed him like a painting of a really, really huge saint. “You were away from me and thought of me. That alone would be an honour, Sir, and a gift even more so.”

“Come away from the window,” she beckoned him, and he did. She removed the unmarked paper bag from one of her belt pouches. “This will be between you and me,” she said, simply, and gestured to him to drop his trousers.

He did so, slowly, and took care to remove his boots and socks first.. Ana felt she was getting a taste of her own medicine; the delayed orgasm she'd given him must have been agonising. Because here were his _feet_ , and yes, they were very nice feet, but – there were his _legs_ and they were also very nice, but – there was his _cock_ and that was _also_ wonderful but at the end of the day _she'd still let him keep his shirt on._

“Very good,” she managed, in an attempt at maintaining an air of composed authority. She hunkered over his groin, intentionally obscuring his view of what she was doing. Ana was aware that getting this wrong could cause a great deal of discomfort, or even injury, and she privately doubted Reinhardt's willingness to call anything off, and so she had read widely beforehand, and had actually put a little lube into her recent purchase before replacing it in the blank paper bag. Deftly, she pulled a little of Reinhardt's scrotum through the ring, and then pushed his testicles through – one, then the other.

“Oh!” blurted Reinhardt.

“Cold?” asked Ana, attempting to feign innocence.

“Indeed! Quite a pleasant sensation, in fact!”

 _Excellent_.

She pulled back his foreskin slightly, and slid the cage over his cock and onto the guide pin, checking the look and feel of the fit as she went – it seemed to be what it was meant to be. The little lightweight padlock snapped easily into place, and she quickly slid the key into her sleeve, to deal with later.

“There,” said Ana, and moved back slightly, pulling Reinhardt's caged dick forward to give him a better look.

 _”Oh,”_ said Reinhardt.

“Indeed,” said Lieutenant Amari, stepping back to admire her work.

“A most special, personal gift,” breathed Reinhardt, apparently captivated by the sight. “Thank you, Sir.”

She knew how this was likely to feel, having read many descriptions. The idea wasn't just to keep him hers and hers alone in a _physical_ sense; it was also that she knew he would be constantly reminded of her mentally. The slight weight of the cage, the pressure if he should become aroused, the feel of his clothes over his changed bulge – which he would have to work to hide – it was a stand-in for her hand. Ana would be able to chair a meeting which Reinhardt attended. She could be on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by other people, and not even looking at him – and know that Reinhardt could feel her touch surrounding his dick.

Plus he'd have to come to her any time he wanted to, well, come.

Reinhardt seemed to be assessing his new situation as well, and it appeared that he was pleased. He looked down at Ana with wide, shining eyes.

 _“Thank you,”_ he breathed in awe.

“There are practical considerations,” Ana asserted; he couldn't get carried away, or they wouldn't be able to do this. “If you feel any chafing at any inappropriate time, you are to leave having remembered a meeting with me and apply lotion. I'm not having you damage my property through stubborn-mindedness.” She gave his caged dick another push, and watched his intent, listening face lose all trace of concentration. “We will review the use of this device at first after one hour, and then after twenty-four hours. Your condition will be monitored. If you don't keep yourself clean despite the obvious difficulties this will entail, I may have to take it away from you.”

Reinhardt looked panicked for a moment, struggling to find the words that would mean she wouldn't take the cage away. For a moment Ana was glad that he was so very much taller than her; patting his head to reassure him would probably have ruined the moment.

“Sir, I see that you have obtained for me a cage in a style that I'm sure will allow me to clean myself. I do aspire to be presentable to you at all times.”

“Then all I will monitor for now will be your own wellbeing. I've read your files and I know you're inclined to overlook it. Even if you're disappointed, Reinhardt, I want you to come to me if it doesn't fit correctly. There are alternatives, and I intend to get this right.”

They looked at each other for a moment, each sizing up the way that this might change their relationship, going forward. Ana was satisfied; she had made her statement. If he didn't like it, he would have to explain himself to her. The ball was in his court.

“Now get dressed,” Lieutenant Amari said affectionately, and slapped his wide thigh loudly, without causing him any great pain.

Reinhardt pulled on his clothes happily, as she fastidiously folded the empty bag for recycling, and didn't so much as poke at the padlock. He didn't ask her where the key was.

\---

And so he remained, for a very long time. Of course his cock came out often; Reinhardt was a well-behaved man, and Ana was pleased to find that opportunities to reward him came frequently (though comparatively, he did not). The trust between them seemed deeper right away. They knew something nobody else did, and they both had great faith in one another to continue this arrangement and to make it work.

The duality of it got to her at times; Ana was very often aware that this was a game in some respects. There were rules, and there was a role she was playing. At any moment Reinhardt could tell her he was uncomfortable in going forward with this, and she would stop right away – they both knew that. And the 'mistress' role wasn't something which could wholly be said to come from her heart; it was something which was working for both of them, scratching an itch for her, and reassuring and welcoming him at the absolute least, but not exactly something she was coming up with on the fly. It was informed by stories, by porn, by erotic art, by forethought, by playfulness. And yet it felt wrong to call this aspect of their relationship a falsehood – it spoke to something in them both. If Ana removed herself from the equation, she could ask herself this: is Reinhardt a knight? And she would answer: there are no knights. That is a flawed premise, as in these modern times, knights are a fiction. But there remained still the other side of that question: If there is a knight, who is it? And the answer, so obviously, was Reinhardt. The qualities of a knight, the definition of that notion, that role, that term – they were all perfectly present and upheld in his gigantic, protectorly form and mind. By that token, she was not his owner, because no person could be said to own another person – and yet, if one was to ask, whose was Reinhardt, the answer was obvious: Reinhardt was hers.

It was enough to chew on. They were happy, and it was nobody else's concern.


	9. Addendum: On The Ethics Of Fucking The Lieutenant

“Well, I don't personally think it's funny,” grumbled Jack.

“It kind of is though,” smirked Gabriel. “I mean, who do they fucking think they're kidding? Like, you're seriously telling me that it's supposed to be a secret that they're fucking? Look at the pair of them. Just... look at them! That's definitely funny.”

Jack scowled, and kicked his boots off irritably. “Easy for you to say.”

“Jack...” Gabe implored, seeing that his commander was getting worked up. “I get it. No, don't interrupt me! I get it, I do. You can see there's something going on between them, and she outranks him, he's a new recruit, and it definitely does look like a bit of a power imbalance... but this isn't an HR handbook, Jack, it's the real world, and you're overthinking it, aren't you? I mean... Reinhardt can take care of himself, _he's a big boy_ ,” and he had to stop then, because the laughter had overtaken him. He stood there doubled over, howling with laughter until Jack elbowed him sharply in the ribs, out of irritation.

“Size is immaterial in this matter, Reyes!”

Gabe struggled to stand properly, but the look of total vexation on Jack's face, and his complete sincerity wrung tears from his eyes, which he tried to wipe away surreptitiously.

“It's a highly serious and nuanced matter!”

“I know Jack, I know... look, let's break down what we know and what we don't – how about that?” He patted the bed, and Jack, though tense, sat next to him obligingly.

“They keep _looking_ at each other,” Jack began.

“Yeah, those are some damn looks alright,” agreed Gabe. “And there's the fact that he walks differently now.”

“Wouldn't have noticed it if you hadn't said it. But now you've said it I can't stop noticing.”

“Weird, right? I think they're into some _kinky_ shit.”

Jack began to raise his hands to his ears in protest, when, realising that Gabe would never let him hear the last of it, lowered them again – but not quickly enough.

“Were you about to cover your ears like a child?” asked Gabe in disbelief, his eyes twinkling.

Jack scowled in response and removed his jacket. “No. Third: we never see him using his bedroom.”

“Yeah,” snickered Gabe, “even though it's close to the mess hall. He could at least _pretend_ or something. Okay, number four...” he kicked off his boots. “They always show up to things at the same time.”

“Dead giveaway,” agreed Jack, making himself comfortable under the blankets. 

“But Jack?” asked Gabe, hanging up his jacket.

“Hmmm?”

“You haven't managed to come up with anything _actionable_. There's really nothing you need to worry about here. Don't you think he seems happy with her? And you've got no _proof_... so why stick your nose in where it isn't needed?” Gabriel made himself comfortable as well.

“It's not right though. If anything goes wrong I'm going to feel responsible.”

“Maybe just keep an eye on them, Jack,” yawned Gabe. “It's honestly a good thing that you care so much about your people, but I don't think you need to micromanage interpersonal stuff like this, you know?”

The conversation seemed to peter out after that, since Jack's mind was elsewhere, and Gabriel's mouth was full of cock.


End file.
